Free Dusssie by Nancy Springer Page A

lunged into a run, sprinting toward where I had seen him. If there had been a car or anything coming at the intersection, it would have creamed me, because I didn’t even look, just ran across. Halfway up the next block, I saw the alley, and in the shadows a cluster of street punks in do-rags and hip-hop pants. Among them I could hear Cy’s sunny voice. “… boys want to rob people?” he was saying without a trace of anything except kindness in his tone. “Why? You’re young. You could—”
    â€œShut up!” one of them snarled. “Give us your money, old man. Now!”
    â€œI can’t. Wouldn’t be right. I’d be helping to corrupt you youngsters—”
    They yelled, cursed, and there was a sick, smacking noise, and Cy gave a cry—they’d hit him. His cry went through me like getting struck by lightning. There was no time to think, only react. I screamed, “Stop it!” and my snakes hissed like a hive of dragons and reared, striking the inside of my hat as I snatched it off. Snakes bared, I charged, yelling “Stop it! Let him alone! Slimeballs, stop it or I’ll …”
    As the punks turned on me, I saw Cy fall, hitting the stony pavement with his frail old arms flung out, and it took all the control I never knew I had, every spark of willpower in my mind, to keep myself from giving them the glare that could kill them. Thank God I only had to hold myself back for an instant. They saw what I was, saw twenty-seven snakes on my head with their pale mouths wide open, striking and hissing and spitting. And those punks froze and went so white that they actually seemed to petrify for a moment before they ran like—
    â€œCockroaches!” I yelled after them, fists clenched. That was the way they ran, like cockroaches, like I’d flipped the light on. “Scumbugs!”
    Then I heard a small, painful sound behind me and spun around, all my anger gone in a moment like water down the drain. “Cy! Cy, are you all right?”
    He lay on the pavement hugging his one arm with the other and staring up at me with wide-eyed wonder, like I was the most amazing birthday surprise. “Well, I never,” he murmured.
    â€œCy.” I folded to my knees beside him, starting to shake. The sound of hissing whispered away as my snakes relaxed. The milk snake draped his checkered belly across my nose. I lifted him gently back to where he belonged, because I needed to see. “Cy, is your arm hurt?”
    He barely seemed to hear me. “Well, I never in all my born days,” he murmured, gazing at my head and smiling like an angel. “You are a doozy.”
    Then it hit me. Panic, I mean. I gasped, “Cy, please don’t tell. Please, don’t.” I wasn’t worried about the others, the street punks, because they’d never admit that a girl scared them, and even if they did talk about me and my snakes, nobody would believe them. But—“Cy, if people find out …” I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I sobbed, “They’ll lock me up and—”
    â€œShhh. Dusie, it’ll be all right.” He reached out with his good hand and patted my knee.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI won’t tell a soul about your beautiful, vehement snakes. I promise.”
    â€œBut your arm—if it’s broken—” I was bawling so hard I couldn’t make sense, but I had my cell phone out, switching it on, so he knew I was thinking we should call an ambulance, and then there would be cops, too, and everybody would want to know all about it.
    â€œNot at all, Dusie,” he said in the most soothing voice. “Just help me up, if you would. Better find your hat first.”
    So I did. I couldn’t stop crying, but I turned my cell phone off again, put it in my pocket, and got moving. I jammed my hat back on, then helped Cy up. It was like lifting a person made of dry sticks and